


To Capture a Storm

by thattrainssailed



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Asanoya Secret Santa 2015, Fluff, M/M, Photographer Asahi, asanoya secret santa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-07
Updated: 2016-01-07
Packaged: 2018-05-12 07:26:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5657728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thattrainssailed/pseuds/thattrainssailed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nishinoya was unapologetically unrelenting in his enthusiasm for life; everything in his pathway was blown over; and Asahi had no choice but to let himself be swept away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Capture a Storm

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2015-2016 Asanoya Secret Santa exchange on Tumblr, for tumblr user queenimpa! Merry (late) Christmas!

Asahi found his start with storms.

There had always been a fascination there as a child; even while he hid under the covers and trembled at every shout of thunder, he found himself peeking out to catch the moments of lightning, the sky creating its own spotlight for its practiced performance. His career began at twelve years old, with a battered disposable camera. He started out small, usual. Landscapes, flowers, birds. All flawed, unpractised shots.

The storms were always the most imperfect of the photos. Shaking hands clutched at a camera, slide off the shutter button at just the wrong moments, always leaving black, empty shots with the silence of lightning missing in between. Asahi kept trying, kept shaking, kept sliding. He was nineteen when he finally got the shot. By then, he’d upgraded to a digital camera, a Christmas gift. The photo itself was tilted off-centre, there were blurs, the focus was out, but it was bright; the spotlight finally captured, cracking light through the black clouds. Asahi jumped at the thunder that comes after, but his chest swelled with triumph at capturing a storm.

He met Nishinoya Yuu a week later.

Nishinoya was a storm of a person in every one of his parts. Fast and startling, bright and accompanied by such a noise that people couldn’t help but notice him. He was every moment of thunder and lightning that the sky can bring, rolling on the breeze of his own confidence to hover over Asahi and flood him. He was unapologetically unrelenting in his enthusiasm for life; everything in his pathway was blown over; and Asahi had no choice but to let himself be swept away.

The attraction was unsurprising.

Now, five years on, Asahi stretches out on their bed. The empty space below his ankles and feet is a familiar asset of the too-short frame. Rain beats against the windows, fighting for a way in, but the scratched panes keep it at bay. Nishinoya is curled into his side, breathing slowly, unstirring. In the storm of Nishinoya, this is the eye. Asahi considers reaching for his camera on the desk, but an experimental stretch leaves Noya stirring. Asahi doesn’t risk spoiling the scene. Truthfully, he already has a great number of photos of Noya in this position, enough for his boyfriend to scroll through his camera and laugh, make a face, tell him, “You’re such a sap, Asahi-san”. Neither of them ever mention the dusting of a blush on Noya’s face.

Noya yawns and resettles himself; wide eyes blink open and find Asahi’s.

“Were you staring at me?” he accuses. Asahi smiles.

“Not for long,” he assures. The smaller man watches him suspiciously, finding his way onto his elbows to sit up. Outside, a squall of wind hurls leaves against their window.

“Liar. You’ve still got your bedhead. You haven’t even gotten up yet, have you?” A hand reaches up to run through Asahi’s long hair. Noya’s grin is sharp, but his fingers are gentle as they comb out tiny knots.

“You’re one to talk, Yuu. It’s nearly eleven and you just woke up.”

“With great power comes great responsibility,” Noya says solemnly, “and with great responsibility comes great need to rest.” He shifts himself into Asahi’s lap and resumes his combing with two hands, winding locks around his fingers. Asahi hums and closes his eyes. Noya’s hands are steady through Asahi’s hair, the smaller man’s breathing a counter-melody to the thrashings of rain against glass. The tugging on his scalp dissipates, turning into gentler strokes down the sides of his head. Without opening his eyes, Asahi finds one of Noya’s wrists and brings his palm to his lips. The smaller man’s movements halt momentarily before his forehead gently presses against Asahi’s. Their breaths mingle together, the outside world all but disappears.

Asahi has no idea how much time passes before Noya sits back and the spell is broken.

“Do you want tea?”

Asahi almost regrets nodding when Noya’s hand disappears from his hair, and his weight from his lap. His eyes stay closed as he listens to his partner banging about the kitchenette, working taps, clicking the kettle into place. Noises blend together into a hum, and Asahi drifts off into a doze.

It can’t have lasted long, because when his eyes finally open, there’s a steaming cup of tea on the desk beside him. Asahi sips at it, sighing, scanning the room for Noya. When his eyes find him, it’s a wonderful view.

He’s thieved one of Asahi’s hoodies and it’s all but swallowing him, the bottom brushing at his thighs. The steam of his tea is fogging the window slightly as Noya peers out of it, rain battering ever heavier at his reflection, wind sending the frame into a slight wobble, the weather beckoning Noya to be swept away in it. Asahi watches Noya’s reflection. The transparent image of his expression remains unperturbed by the gale; he’s almost intense in his defiance. Beautiful, Asahi thinks. Enough to rival the storm.

He can’t help reaching for his camera.

Noya doesn’t start at the click of the lens; by now he’s become accustomed to Asahi’s habits. He plays the part of artwork perfectly, in the moment; intensity in all his expressions, dramatic in his movements, battling the most breathtaking of settings for the spotlight. To their small apartment, he brings life itself.

That’s in the moment, of course. Everything changes when the moment passes.

“You take photos of the weirdest things,” he whines. Asahi shrugs, finally sitting up properly, swinging his legs over the side of the bed; Noya crosses the room and plops down beside him.

“I photograph what I like,” Asahi says simply. The camera is still in his hands; Noya’s head cranes over to peer at the image on the small display. His nose scrunches.

“I look too serious,” Noya says. “Your photos of me are always like that! When’s your camera going to capture my true charm and charisma, huh?” He tilts his head onto Asahi’s shoulder, leaning up with some difficulty to kiss his chin.

“Yuu, with the number of selfies you take, there’s no way my camera has missed any part of your charm.” A grin splits like lightning across Noya’s face.

“Never enough!” The camera is snatched out of Asahi’s hands and Noya’s standing up on the bed, holding the camera high, angling it to capture both his grin and Asahi’s bemused expression. The photo’s taken with a click. “There, see?” He shoves the camera at Asahi proudly. “That’s what the public wants!”

“I don’t think the public is ready for this,” Asahi says. A smile creeps onto his face as Noya’s offended expression fights back his own grin.

“I see how it is!” He hops off the bed ungracefully. “I’m going to take a shower and you are not invited!” With that, he marches dramatically off to the bathroom, door slamming closed behind him.

As if in agreement, a bang sounds across the room; the wind’s finally managed to fight a window open. Asahi walks across to close it as rain starts pouring in. He can’t keep the smile off his face.

For a moment, he considers leaving the apartment, going outside and maybe taking some shots of the rain on the city. A tuneless melody drifts from the bathroom; Asahi steps away from the window.

He has little use for weather now that he’s been picked up by his own personal hurricane.


End file.
